It Hurts, Make it Go Away
by MoustachioPenguin
Summary: Aomine never stopped Haizaki that night after Kaijō's match against Fukuda Sōgō. He never imagined what a single confrontation could have prevented. Now he's left to pick up the pieces left of a boy he had never thought could fall apart.


**Title:** It Hurts; Make it Go Away**  
Rating:** M (to be safe)**  
Pairings: **Subtly hinted at Aokise, forced Haizaki/Kise**  
Warnings: **Rape, although not graphically described. Possible OOCness, unbeta'd.**  
Word Count: **8000 approx.**  
Summary: **Aomine never stopped Haizaki that night after Kaijō's match against Fukuda Sōgō. He never imagined what a single confrontation could have prevented. Now he's left to pick up the pieces left of a boy he had never thought could fall apart.**  
A/N: **For Kokicchi~! This was such a beautiful and angsty prompt; I truly hope I did it justice and that you enjoy what I've written! It's a bit longer than initially planned (I feel that 'drabble' is not in my vocabulary OTL), but hopefully that won't be a bad thing. Anyways, please enjoy everyone!

* * *

It Hurts; Make it Go Away

* * *

_Drip. Drip._

How long has he been lying there, staring at the door? It seems like hours; he wonders if anyone will come to find him. Then again, does he want to be found while he looks as he does? No, no; he's fine. He'll be _fine_. If he can just pull up his sweats from where they are tangled at his ankles, he'll be okay. The tie tethering his hands to the bench has loosened from his earlier struggle; now that he's not frantic, he's able to tug at the fabric and wiggle his hands free. The skin around his wrists is raw and bruised, but he can't feel it. He can't feel the burning in his eyes or the scratchiness of his throat or the persistent pains shooting throughout his legs and lower back—he can't feel anything but _dirty_.

_Drip_.

With a trembling arm, he pushes the upper half of his body from the cold cement ground. Although he knows he shouldn't, he looks down at his exposed thighs, peppered with bruises in the shape of fingerprints. He raises his free hand to cover his mouth, bile rising in his throat when he sees a mixture of red and white on the ground where he had been forced to lay earlier. Without looking, he knows the two substances are on him, _in_ him—he can _feel_ it.

_Drip_.

It takes a while, but he's eventually able to free his tie from the locker room bench; the creases in the material are horrendous, but he supposes that it matches him perfectly. Filthy. Used.

He throws the cloth at his bag in disgust.

_Drip_.

When he stands, he uses the lockers and the bench he's between for purchase. Unlike before, his legs are able to support him, but he can still feel them shaking. He wonders what would have happened had they been uninjured—would he have been able to get away?

"Ah!" He cries as he bends to pull up his sweats. It hurts, like he's being torn apart _again_, but he ignores the burning pain because he doesn't want to be exposed; he wants to be covered and safe and hidden. With how repulsive he is though, he doubts clothes will be able to hide his shame.

_Drip_.

Where did he go wrong? The evening had been going so well, perfectly even, minus the shortcoming of his leg. In order to hide how severely the overuse was affecting him, how his leg couldn't even support him after being exerted to such a point, he had told his teammates to go to dinner without him to celebrate—that he was tired and wanted to go home. Was that a mistake? Not being honest with them? Or is he the mistake? Did he deserve it?

"_Every time you take something from me, I'll be sure to take something right back."_

Did he want it?

_Drip_.

He had tried to run—when his pants were first being pulled from his hips. There's no way he wanted it—he lashed out, he kicked and then tried running, but his leg wouldn't support him, so he fell. He had screamed, 'Stop, stop!' He had _begged_.

Why didn't it stop?

_Drip_.

There were so many people he cried for; it had hurt so much. Mom, dad, Kasamatsu. Why didn't anyone come? Why didn't anyone come to help him? Save him?

"_Hate you—hate you so __**goddamn**__ much you little bitch, ahh!"_

Water drips from the showers connected to the room. That should be the only sound he hears, but instead all that echoes in his head is the sickening sound of skin slapping against skin—of his own screams and moans and _wails_.

Stop.

Stop.

_Please_ stop!

_Drip_.

It hadn't been gentle. Everything was rough and violent and painful—nothing of what a first time should be. There were no reassuring kisses or sweet words, no preparation or consent. All there was was a forceful thrust and tearing and pounding, pounding, _pounding_ while he struggled, while he tried to pull away but was only pulled closer, deeper.

There's not one part of him that was left untouched; not _one_ part of him left _clean_. He's disgusting. Used. Dirty.

"_Are you getting off on this? Hah! Fucking pretty boy; how humiliating!"_

Shower. He needs to shower, but when he takes two unsteady steps forward, he finds himself unable to support himself. When his knees give out beneath him, he crumbles to the cement floor. Weakly, he slumps against the lockers beside him and groans in tormented frustration. Clean—he just wants to get clean! He's had enough taken from him in the past hour, he just wants to stand beneath hot water and _burn_ his skin until he can't feel the punches, the kicks, the kisses, the touches, the _fucking_.

_Drip_.

Against the will of his body, he forces himself to stand, to walk in to the communal showers.

_Drip. Dripdripdripdripdrip._

The pitter patter of water hitting his clothed body and tile do little to drown out the sounds engrained in to his mind. Steam quickly forms around him, and while the water stings, he still feels so overcomes him, and he slowly slumps to the floor of the shower. There's a lingering feeling on the right side of his face where a shoe nudged him to look upwards after everything was done. The overhead lights had made that person look like a shadow, from his point of view—but that smirk, that sadistic grin shone bright.

"_Pathetic. You may have won some stupid game, but you'll always be the loser."_

The water loses its heat, at some point. Regardless of the drops changing from burning hot to ice cold, he doesn't move—he only thinks, relives, frantically tries to deny and escape reality. No matter which crevice of his mind he runs to, though, the same thing awaits him: Haizaki.

"Nngh," He whimpers, curling in on himself defensively. The heels of his palms press harshly in to his eyes and he grasps his hair desperately while he shakes his head. No. No, no, no no no _no_! Go away, go away _please stop __**please**_! _Just leave me alone_!

_Dripdripdripdripdripdripdrip dripdripdripdrip._

But Haizaki doesn't leave him alone—even when the other is gone, he can still feel everything; the hands shoving him down, the kicks that keep him there, how his own tie is used to bind him, how his sweats are forcefully pulled away, the fingertips ghosting over his skin, the hot open-mouthed kisses, the raw fuc—

"Stop!" He cries to no one, voice breaking terribly and body trembling from cold and fear. Each breath he takes is choppy, interrupted by his chattering teeth and his wrecked sobs. Stop—why won't it stop!? Why is Haizaki still there when he had _seen_ the boy leave!? Go away! **Go away!**

_Stop touching me!_

"Please," He begs, "_please_."

But just like before, nothing stops. The memories haunt him and Haizaki's ghost remains unrelenting, forceful, cruel. He just wants his feeling of control back—winning wasn't worth it, it wasn't! With arms wrapped tightly around his middle in semblance of a hug, he crumbles forward, forehead coming to rest against the wet tiles beneath him. His body trembles; he rocks himself back and forth. Teeth bite his already split lip as he breathes, breathes, chokes, sobs, _screams_.

* * *

Yelling. There's so much yelling, but it's not from the echoes of his scream in the locker room. Instead, it's from others and it's all directed at _him_. Can they not see that he's sorry? That he's trying his best? He can't control his body's reflexes; he can't control his mind and the haunting memories that fill it. Everyone is angry, frustrated, exasperated, but in comparison he's scared, _terrified_. Everywhere he looks, every time he's charged at or touched, it's Haizaki's face he sees. As far as he's concerned, he's not in the middle of a basketball match, he's still in the _nightmare_ he's been stuck in for days.

Wake up.

Wake up.

**Wake up!**

"Oof!" He groans, circling his arms around the ball that is thrown forcefully at him. Because he's so distracted, he misses catching it until it hits his stomach, littered with bruises beneath his jersey. It hurts, but when he's able to look up from where he had instinctively curled forward, he realizes—no. No it doesn't hurt, because the look Kagami gives him is what hurts.

"What's wrong with you?" The power forward yells, voice booming and pitchy because of the amount of emotions running through him. "Are you making fun of me? What happened to our promise? I'm playing seriously and you keep running!"

Suddenly, it becomes difficult to swallow. His eyes are wide and he shakes his head—he's not running from Kagami, never! It's just—he's just—

"I won't accept beating you as you are; where's the Kise we all saw in your last game? _That's_ who I want to play!" Kagami growls as he storms forward. Instead of seeing angry, purposeful strides though, Kise hears the sound of a locking door, of quiet shuffling. In a movement of panic, he raises his arms to cover his face and flinches back terribly. The bounce of the ball he dropped in order to protect himself is the only sound he hears over the sound of livid yells and a ref's whistle.

Seirin's team holds back their fuming ace and all Kise can think is, 'Where am I? Where am I!?' This isn't him on the court right now; this isn't him playing so passively. He knows he's capable of so much more—why isn't he living up to the bar he's been pushing, exceeding?

_Hahah_.

The sound makes him turn to look over his shoulder to scan the crowd with wide, fearful eyes. Where is he? He heard him—he's here watching, waiting.

"Hey!" Kagami calls; he turns back to face the boy, amber eyes steadily becoming more glazed over with panic. "Get your head in the game!"

The command makes it sound so simple, but no matter how hard he tries, his mind is stuck in that locker room, on the cold ground with Haizaki above him. Touching him. Kissing him. Hurting him. Since it happened, he hasn't told anyone. When his parents greeted him that night, they panicked over the visible, superficial wounds on his face—although he had tried telling them what had really happened, all that escaped his lips were _lies_ that effectively hid his shame from them while simultaneously torturing him. Kise wants to tell someone, _anyone_ because even after two nights everything still aches and he's still so _scared_ and _dirty_ and he just wants it all to stop!

"Hey," A voice calls from behind him, and suddenly he's seated on the stairs leading to a side entrance of the gymnasium instead of on the court. It's then that he remembers he's already lost—just like Haizaki said, because he, Kise, is a loser.

"Aominecchi? What are you doing here?" Kise asks, looking up and over his shoulder at the tall power forward. In a strained attempt to appear normal, he pastes a practiced smile on his face, but Aomine isn't looking at his face, the other boy stares at Kise's trembling hands. With an awkward laugh, Kise hides them between his abdomen and thighs. "Shouldn't you have gone home already?"

"Something was off during your match; thought I'd check on you." Aomine says in broken sentences, walking down a few steps before taking a seat beside him. Against his will, Kise tenses and his breath catches in his throat. Although he mentally assures himself he's fine, that Aomine would never hurt him like that, he can't seem to calm down. Aomine continues with a gruff, "When I ran in to Kagami, he was worried—said that you looked pretty roughed up and out of sorts."

He tilts his head down slightly in an attempt to hide the split in his lower lip and the bruise surrounding it. Kise is sure he looks bad even without the wound marring his face though—he hasn't slept well since the incident so his eyes are bloodshot and there are noticeable dark circles beneath them. He's sure he looks as disgusting as he actually is.

"He's not mad?" Kise asks warily, confused how Kagami couldn't be. Kise really screwed up—he couldn't keep it together long enough to honor the promise he made with the other. There had just been so many people and too much close contact that made his body remember those _things_ and—

"No, just concerned like everyone else that was watching—you were seriously playing like shit." Aomine states bluntly as he places his forearms on one of the steps behind him and leans back. The tanned boy chances a look at his companion, but the model continues to sit in a drawn up ball, making no move to speak. With a huff, Aomine continues, "So, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing." Kise says, fingers fidgeting with the jacket he has zipped up to his neck that effectively covers the ugly multitude of hickies that the makeup he had sweated off can't hide.

"No one believes that." Aomine scoffs.

It's embarrassing how true that statement is—not even Kise believes his own words.

"Who did this?" Aomine tries again, remaining unperturbed.

"Did what?" Kise asks.

The continued avoidance of questions annoys Aomine; the boy has to take a deep breath before grounding out a harsh, "Who fucked up your face?"

Kise wants to spit out the same lie he's been telling his parents and teammates—that he was accidently hit by someone while practicing, but while beside Aomine the words die on his lips. This could be his chance to talk about it, but what would Aomine think? The dark haired boy would be disgusted with him and how weak, pathetic, repulsive he is; he doesn't want Aomine to have that perception of him.

"Was it Haizaki?" Aomine all but growls while turning to look at Kise with narrowed eyes. The angered look remains on his face until he sees Kise's body seize up and amber eyes widen while staring down at the ground beneath them. The power forward frowns, reaching over to grab Kise's shoulder—when he does, the other boy is quick to move away, so quick that the blonde stumbles down a couple of steps while looking at him in panic. Aomine stands as well, "…Kise?"

"I forgot that I have a shoot to go to!" Kise lies hurriedly, laughing loudly while he continues down the last few steps. The model offers Aomine a brief wave before _running_. Or at least, he _tries_ to run, just like two nights ago. Instead of his legs giving out on him though, a calloused hand wraps tightly around his wrist—he grits his teeth at the feeling of fabric being forcefully rubbed in to his raw skin.

"A-Ah—" He pants quietly, trying subtly to pull himself away from Aomine; he's so dirty—Aomine shouldn't be touching someone so _dirty_! "Aominecchi, I'm really late—"

"What did that bastard do to you?" Aomine asks. The taller teen refuses to loosen his grip, refuses to let Kise run like he had been doing throughout each of the quarters he had watched in the other's earlier game. He needs to know what happened, if it's serious, because it must be if Kise is trying to hide it. Did Haizaki threaten the other? That _scum_!

"Nothing, nothing happened." Kise says while trying to keep his breathing even and paced; his chest feels tight though, like when he had been punched and kicked and _beaten_. He's been tugged to the point he has to face Aomine, but he keeps his eyes averted to the left.

"You're lying," Aomine says, narrowing his eyes at the model as he tightens his grip. The slight movement seems to cause a jolt in Kise, because it suddenly appears as if the boy isn't breathing—isn't even present where they stand. Aomine doesn't understand what is going on, but in Kise's mind, Aomine's hand is too similar to the tie that had bound him to the bench, to the cold cement ground—too tight around his wrists and inescapable, leaving him helpless, vulnerable—

"Kise?"

The world comes back in to focus and Kise's back by the gymnasium with Aomine. He doesn't know how much longer he can stand living in flashbacks—he doesn't want them to take over his life, he doesn't want _Haizaki_ taking any more of him than what has already been taken.

He pulls against Aomine's grip one last time and finds no resistance from the confused boy; Kise takes a staggering step back before he turns and runs.

* * *

One week.

Seven _fucking_ days.

Aomine doesn't know why it's suddenly become so difficult to contact Kise, but it seriously pisses him off. The image of how Kise looked the last time they talked—terrified, broken, _small_—is burned in to his memory, haunting him at all hours of the day. He wants to know what's wrong, what that Haizaki bastard did to make Kise so scared and strange. Although he's put in countless hours of effort towards finding the blonde, he falls short.

Kise won't answer his phone, isn't at school or around town, even at _home_; Aomine is at his wits end. The idiot had always been at his beck and call, but it seems now Kise has ceased to exist.

"Aomine-san?" Someone calls from behind him, voice perplexed because Aomine is in his Tōō uniform, wandering around Kaijō's hallways in search of a simple-minded moron who is suddenly too cunning. Aomine turns and sees the senpai Kise is so fond of, but the blonde is nowhere in sight.

"Where's Kise?" He asks, blunt and straight to the point.

"Kise? He's—he…" The senpai, Kasamatsu, starts. The upperclassman seems to deflate a bit at the topic Aomine broaches, but looks to Aomine with barely disguised hope in his eyes, "He just left—he told me he wasn't feeling well and was going to go straight home."

"Thanks," Aomine grunts before turning on his heel and running in the direction of Kise's house. If even Kise's senpai looks worried, something still must be going on—he'll definitely find out what.

'Where are you?' He thinks to himself as he power walks past crowds of students. A part of him wants to yell at them to get out of his way, that he doesn't have time to weave past them or shove his way through, but before he gets to that point he catches sight of a familiar head of blonde hair—surprisingly by itself.

"Kise!" Aomine calls; the model and a multitude of others turn to look at him.

"Aominecchi?" Kise asks in return; when Aomine closes the distance between them, he notices the blonde takes a small step back.

"I've been calling you for a week; why haven't you been picking up!?" Aomine asks, voice full of annoyance and partial relief—it doesn't appear as if Kise is injured; the wounds that had been tainting the other's face are healing too.

"Oh. My phone broke a couple of weeks ago and I haven't gotten a new one yet." Kise laughs while wrapping an arm around his middle. The gesture confuses Aomine, but he doesn't pay much attention, instead choosing to focus on how breathy and decidedly less annoying Kise's voice is.

Aomine furrows his brows and says, "I've been looking for you at school too; you haven't been around."

"I—"Kise starts, but pauses awkwardly as if he's thinking up an excuse on the spot. The fact that Kise is trying so desperately to hide something from him pisses Aomine off; he wants to smack the boy upside the head and force what happened out of those full lips. Kise shuffles a bit and says, "Work. I've been busy with work lately, so I've been missing school… but Aominecchi has been trying to visit me there? How sweet! What's up?"

There are plenty of girls that have stopped to watch their exchange; he wants to scare them off—this isn't any of their business!

"I want to talk to you." Aomine says.

Kise tilts his head to the side in a show of confusion and asks, "We're talking right now, aren't we?"

"In private." Aomine says, voice low and rough. Without waiting for a response, he grabs Kise by the wrist and pulls him through a thinning crowd towards a park he found a while back while searching for the moron he manhandles now. There's a quiet gasp from behind him, but no resistance—it makes everything easier for when he forces Kise to sit on an empty bench upon entering the mostly deserted park.

"A-Aominecchi could have just said so," Kise forces a chuckle, rubbing his freed wrist with his hand gently while smiling up at Aomine.

"So you could have run and strung me along for another week?" Aomine scoffs in return, standing far enough back to give the model some space but not far enough to give the other any openings to escape. He continues, "I'm not a patient person, Kise. Tell me what the fuck was up with you the other week."

"Is Aominecchi worried?" Kise jokes, but the small forward looks far from playful—he looks withdrawn and defensive.

"Why else would I waste my time trying to find you?" Aomine asks in return, narrowing his eyes slightly at how Kise avoids answering his questions. "What did Haizaki do to you?"

"Nothing!" Kise says, "Honestly, he didn't—"

"Stop lying."

"I'm not—"

"I said to stop!"

"Who cares!?"

Aomine stares in stunned silence at the lash out. Even when he sees Kise push himself from off of the bench, Aomine can't bring himself to chase after the other. What did Kise mean, 'Who cares?' It had looked as if the idiot was about to cry.

* * *

People call Aomine stubborn—he prefers the word _determined_, especially in sketchy situations where he's standing outside his friend's house like some creep. Kise may try convincing him that nothing is wrong and that everything is fine, but Aomine knows that idiot's body like the back of his hand. He knows that Kise doesn't have a tendency to tense, even in situations in which Aomine may be more threatening than he should be; he knows that Kise's chest doesn't shudder with intakes and exhales of air unless the other is physically exhausted; he knows these minute things, and he's noticed that lately this is what Kise has become.

"Daiki-kun?" A soft voice calls; it causes Aomine to tense before slowly turning around—it's then that he realizes the top of his head can be seen from over the Kise's gate. Shit.

"Uh… hey." Aomine says, offering Kise's mom a short wave that transitions in to an awkward scratching at the back of his head.

"Are you here to see Ryouta?" She asks, smiling patiently at him. "It's been such a long time!"

"It has. Um… Is he in?" Aomine asks, trying to keep his tone as formal and polite as possible—it's a struggle, but Kise's mom can seriously help him out right now.

"He is, although I don't think he's been feeling well." She sighs, brows furrowing slightly in worry. "I think he's depressed, but he won't talk to his dad or me; we're becoming worried. Do you know if anything is going on?"

"No… ma'am." Aomine says, slightly disappointed that he can't just ask Kise's mom. He rounds the fence to stand at the gate entry and shifts his weight from one foot to another, "Do you mind if I see him?"

"I'm not sure if he wants company, but I think he could use a friend to talk to." Kise's mom says, moving away from the door so that he can enter. As he approaches, the short woman smiles softly up at him; it's strange how dim her smile is compared to Kise's. "You're such a kind boy, Daiki-kun; thank you for caring so much for Ryouta."

Aomine wouldn't go so far as to say he _cares_, but he's not going to tell that to the woman who is saving him from the hassle of getting her idiot son to open the door. He thanks her with an awkward smile before she turns to leave; when the door shuts, he's left in a silent house he's only been in a number of times before. Regardless of that fact, he still remembers where Kise's room is—up the stairs, at the end of the hall on the left.

The door is closed and locked.

_Knock knock._

There's a muffled sound from the other side of the door; Aomine continues knocking until he hears footsteps and the door in front of him is opened in a quick motion. Kise looks exhausted, but soon appears to become wide awake at the site of his old teammate. It's strange seeing Kise with bedhead, in a pleasant sort of way—the boy also has failed to dress up and looks like a typical teenage boy in a sweatshirt and gym shorts.

"Hey—Hey!" Aomine starts to say casually, but ends up yelling when Kise tries to slam the door in his face. With his quick reflexes, he's able to put his foot in the door jam and wrap his fingers around the edge of the door while pushing forward to keep the damn thing open. "What the fuck!?"

"Go away!" Kise says, back pressed to the flimsy wood and trying to put all of his weight in to closing it.

Lucky for Aomine, the idiot wears socks, so it's simple to push back and make the boy slip and stumble backwards. While the blonde finds his balance, Aomine throws the door open and glares, "Like Hell I'm going away! After all the trouble I've gone through to actually get to you?" He scoffs and continues, instantly annoyed with Kise's attitude. "Why have you been acting like this? It's not like you; you have your parents worried, you know?"

"It's no one's business." Kise says, wrapping his arms around himself while walking over to the bed.

Aomine can feel his brow twitch at the other's sassiness; he doesn't appreciate it one bit, especially while he's expressing _concern_. He follows after Kise and shoves the other down on to the bed; the blonde lets out an undignified yelp before scrambling to roll over.

"Aominecchi—"Kise starts, but Aomine has none of it.

"Shut up," He demands, and surprisingly Kise follows his command obediently. He takes a deep, non-calming breath and grounds out, "You've been different since your match against Haizaki—even your parents have noticed. I don't know what's wrong, but you better damn well tell me, and if not me, then at least your mom and dad!"

"You can't tell me what to do, Aominecchi." Kise says defiantly, but the way the blonde's body tries to curl in on itself defensively ruins the other's confident tone. "I'm _fine_!"

"Last I checked, people who are 'fine' aren't so defensive; last time I checked—they don't _flinch_," As he says this, Aomine lurches forward, kneeling on top of Kise's bed and over the boy, effectively pinning him down. Amber eyes widen and stare up at him as if petrified. Aomine continues, "—when people get close to them; especially outgoing, personable little shits like you. And _you_—you don't _run_ from me, Kise. You _chase_ me and recently it's been the other way around and I _hate_ that."

Beneath him, Kise doesn't move; the model remains still with his hands fisting desperately at the sweatshirt he wears. The faraway look in those amber eyes make Aomine falter, but he knows backing down will only lead him to what's happened twice already. With this in mind, Aomine keeps his domineering position over Kise and _hopes_ the boy will be intimidated enough to speak, because Aomine doesn't know what else to do at this point without laying a hand on the other.

But once again, Kise one ups him with those tears—they don't fall, but they're still present and give Kise's eyes a glassy quality that almost makes Aomine feel bad.

"Get off of me." Kise says, voice quiet and wavering slightly.

"No." Aomine responds boldly, narrowing his eyes at the other.

"Please?" Kise asks, _pleads_ and that tone—it reminds Aomine of his last meeting with the model and how the other lashed out with those broken words of 'Who cares!?' Although Kise is nearly begging him, Aomine shakes his head no; his response causes Kise to bite his lip before shoving Aomine in the chest. The push winds him, but he has enough sense to grab Kise by his forearms and pin him down more forcefully than he had before. Beneath him, Kise lashes out, frantically struggling this way and that.

It scares him. It's like Kise is a wounded animal.

"K-Kise!"

"I said to get off!" Kise yells while trying to pull his arms free. It's a struggle to keep the model down; although Kise isn't nearly as rough and tough as Aomine, the idiot is still strong. "Get off, get off—"

"Hey! Calm down! I just want to know what that bastard did to upset you so damn mu—"Aomine yells back, but stops when he sees Kise's exposed wrists; the sweatshirt that had hidden them had risen during their struggle and…

"W-what are these?" Aomine asks, eyes wide because _what the __**fuck**_?

"S-stop it!" Kise cries; there are probably tears, but Aomine's gaze is set on the ugly red and purple that mars the small forward's white wrists. "Please stop! Not again, please not again."

At the words, Aomine lets go and sits up so that he's standing on his knees on the edge of Kise's bed. Kise immediately curls on to his side and in to a ball, pleading things that Aomine doesn't understand—things Aomine isn't sure he _wants_ to understand.

Stop touching me.

Please stop, please.

It hurts, it hurts.

Stop.

"Kise?" Aomine calls, but the blonde doesn't respond.

"Leave—leave me alone, _please_." Kise sobs, shoulders shaking and voice hitching with shuddering intakes of air. As the other cries, Aomine looks down at him and really _looks_; he sees more than the tenseness in the blonde's body and how Kise's back racks with shudders, he sees the healing split lip and the dark circles; he sees raw wrists and fading bite marks around the other's neck and the remnants of bruises peppering Kise's thighs from where the boy's shorts had ridden up—

"What happened…?" He asks, but his voice is so quiet that he's not sure if he was just thinking to himself. There's no answer to his question, only the weak shaking of a head as if the boy beneath him is begging him, 'No, no.'

When he stands to leave a few moments later, he pauses in the doorway to look back at Kise—the blonde remains on his side in a ball with his face hidden. Not knowing what to do, Aomine turns to go, but is stopped by a shaky voice behind him.

"He wouldn't stop; he wouldn't stop and it hurt so much." Kise says, cries. The model's voice is muffled by the comforter beneath him; Aomine steps away from the door and closer to the bed to better hear, "Why wouldn't he stop? Why did no one help me?"

Aomine stands beside the bed, listening to the vague confession and not knowing what to do to comfort the boy.

"I'm scared—so scared; dirty." Kise chokes.

"You're—"Aomine starts, pauses. He doesn't know if he should offer Kise a hug or something, but with how the teen has been acting with physical contact, he feels it would be a bad idea. Instead of going with his initial reaction, he kneels beside Kise's bed, "Let me help _now_. What happened?"

Kise pushes himself up slightly to look up to him with tearstained cheeks and splotchy face from crying. The model bites his lower lip as tears start afresh; Aomine reaches forward to wipe them away with the back of his sleeve, but Kise flinches away. Taking a deep breath, Aomine tries again, gently placing his hand against Kise's face and rubbing the continuously falling tears from his friend's left eye with his thumb. Kise seems surprised by the touch and remains tense even when he reaches pale hands up to grasp at Aomine's hand.

"I was—he—"

The feeling of his heart sinking makes Aomine feel nauseous.

* * *

As he's pulled off of Haizaki, all he can feel is a burning anger that courses throughout his entire being and the steady _drip, drip_ from the blood that trickles from his clenched fists. He's so angry—he doesn't hear words, can't even hear his own screaming or the scuffle he causes while trying to rip himself away from the police officer's hold. Just one more punch, one more _goddamn_ punch and then another and another until that _bastard_ doesn't have a fucking face!

"Get off of me!" He cries, struggling in the hold of two police officers. Despite his efforts, they're just that little bit stronger and manage to prevent him from what his blind rage is telling him to do. In front of him, Haizaki is being held back by police officers too and tries to lunge at him in return. Aomine is sure he looks just as roughed up as that sickening _scumbag_, but he can't feel anything but an all-consuming wrath.

What he did to Kise—what this asshole did is unforgiveable! Aomine will _never_ forgive him; he wants to _kill_ him!

"Are you that upset your goods are damaged?" Haizaki taunts, taking a moment to spit some blood near Aomine's feet; in return, Aomine manages to kick the other's shin harshly before the officers behind him pull him further away.

"Cut it out, the both of you!" A man from behind Aomine yells; while the officers talk and come to the conclusion of taking the two teens to different stations to avoid further fighting, Aomine seethes and lets out a feral growl. With bared teeth and narrowed eyes, he hopes Haizaki realizes he's on an off-list and won't be coming off it until he's _dead_.

"Fucking—"Aomine starts, but the officers pull them away from each other roughly and force them in to different police cars. The ensuing drive is tense; although the officers ask him questions, he's too angry to answer so he remains silent until he's taken in to the station and sat across from an older looking man. It's then that the officers come to the conclusion it was a childish fight between two punks—Aomine wonders what they would say if they knew _everything_ behind the reason of why such an event transpired. Surely they wouldn't call it a 'childish' fight then, but it isn't Aomine's place to tell them something that Kise should have gone to them about weeks ago.

"We're letting him off with a warning," The officers say to his father after the man enters the station and rushes over to where he sees his son bloody and bruised. When his father thanks them for their leniency, Aomine bites back a scoff before he's carted off to the car parked outside.

"Are you not going to ask about it?" Aomine asks after a tense few minutes of driving in silence; he refuses to look as his dad, and he knows the man isn't looking at him either. The power forward wonders if the man is disappointed—even if he is, Aomine doesn't think he cares right now; he's just full of regret that he couldn't do more damage to that sick son of a bitch before the police showed up.

"I don't think you were fighting without reason; it's not like you." His dad says casually; the words take away some of the anger Aomine feels and replaces it with bone-deep exhaustion. "Although, I wish I could have seen the other guy; he had better look worse than you."

Regardless of the situation, Aomine finds a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The smile lasts until his dad pulls along the empty space to the side of their house. As soon as he opens the car door, his mother is fussing over him and the multiple injuries he sustained during his fight hours earlier. Although he tries to shrug her off, tell her that he's fine, she has none of it and makes him sit to have his wounds properly tended to after he bathes and washes the dirt and grime from his body.

"Care to talk about why you got in to such a mess, Daiki?" His dad asks shortly after his mom begins dabbing a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant along his cut brow.

"He had it coming." He grunts, still angry but not wanting to lash out at his parents.

"What do you mean?" His mother prompts, and Aomine _seriously_ can't deal with talking about it right now; not when the memories are so fresh. Not when he can still hear the sound of Kise's crying echoing in his head and can feel the blonde clinging to him like he's the last _safe_ thing in the world—not when he can still remember how Kise's body had shuddered against him upon finally succumbing to an exhaustion only endless sobbing can bring—not when Haizaki is still wandering without knowing that _same suffering_; it's just not fair, it's _not_! Aomine shakes his head and bites the inside corner of his lip—he's just so fucking _pissed_ and his eyes sting and—

"Shit." He murmurs, pulling away from his mom and lowering his head. In an anxious gesture he runs his hand through his hair, but the action doesn't help with anything he feels.

"Daiki, what happened?" His father asks, voice rough but filled with worry.

"He hurt my friend." Aomine says, looking up towards the ceiling to stop, stop, _stop_ the ridiculous torrent of emotions just beneath the surface.

"Satsuki?" His dad asks, brows furrowing deeply; Aomine answers by shaking his head no. "Who?"

"Kise." Aomine says through deep breaths and when he next speak his voice actually _breaks_, "He was ra—"

The words catch painfully in his throat and he drops his head. Small arms wrap around him, tugging him down until his head rests against his mother's chest. He bites his lip and tries to stop himself from crying, but the angry tears force their way past anyways as Aomine inhales and exhales trembling breaths. He's so angry, and it doesn't seem like anything will take the feeling away; he feels like he's suffocating—he can only imagine what _Kise_ feels, how the idiot has felt for the past _two weeks_ while suffering by himself.

"Raped—Kise was _raped_ and it's _my_ fault." Aomine growls; he feels his mom's arms tighten around him and can feel how she stops breathing, much like how he reacted with Kise when the boy had finally choked out what happened earlier. "I knew that bastard was up to something, but I never thought—and now—"

"Shh," His mom hushes him, burying the side of her face in to his hair. "It's not your fault, Daiki. It's not."

But it is his fault, because he didn't go to stop Haizaki that night. If he had—if he had just gone and punched that _rapist_ then this whole mess could have been avoided! Kise could still be his bright and bubbly self, safe and secure and not scared—and Aomine… he wouldn't feel so guilty, wouldn't be so _angry_ and torn apart over something he isn't capable of fixing.

_Damnit!_

While his mother rubs his back, his father sits beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder in an awkwardly comforting manner, but all Aomine can feel is guilt, heavy and painful in the pit of his stomach. He explains the past two weeks to his parents, how Kise had been acting strange and avoiding him, and how he finally found out why and how he's so _fucking_ pissed. They don't correct him for his vulgar language or his grotesque and empty threats to Haizaki; they patiently listen and stay close by, even when Aomine's regrouped enough to stop the frustrated tears that sting his eyes.

"I don't know what to do—he hasn't told anyone else." Aomine says as he pulls himself away from his mother's safe embrace. He stares at the floor and sighs heavily; it's not even late at night and he's so tired.

"His parents need to know." His mom says softly, "Parents should know; no child should be forced to deal with something like this themselves."

"It's not my place to say anything though, mom." Aomine sighs in frustration, running a hand through his still-damp hair before pulling at the short, dark blue strands. Before he's able to speak again, he slouches forward and focuses on the floor beneath his feet, "I know—I know rape isn't about… isn't about sex; it's about control and I can't take that away from him."

"Have you talked to Ryouta about it?" His mother asks in that patient tone of hers; it does little to ease Aomine's agitation.

"How could I!?" He snaps, but realizes his mistake and lowers his head ashamedly. Before he continues, he takes a deep breath and focuses his attention on to his clasped hands. "He wouldn't stop crying."

"You need to try to convince him to talk with his parents, or at least to go see a doctor or—"His dad says, stumbling a bit because _why_ should anyone have to know about what to do after something like this? It shouldn't happen!

"There are support groups, as well." His mother adds, and rubs at his arm comfortingly. "Just… just don't leave him alone right now, Daiki, especially if he trusts you."

"As if I could." He mutters, standing from the couch in a drained movement. Kise has pushed his way too far in to Aomine's life; the power forward can't imagine living without that constant, persistent, annoying and painfully _bright_ presence in his life. A sigh escapes him, filled with a combination of resignation and residual frustration and maybe something a little more pained than he cares to admit before he announces that he's going to bed. When his mom asks him if he would like her to bring him dinner, he declines; he doesn't have much of an appetite. Aomine knows he's leaving them in a worried state about him, but he can't be bothered with anything anymore. Aomine just wants to sleep—to deal with everything tomorrow. It's not very mature of him; he should go to check on Kise and do what his parents had suggested just moments earlier, but he's sixteen and he can't keep his eyes open anymore.

When he finally lies down, he can't fall asleep—all he can do is throw his arms over his eyes and grit his teeth at the throbbing pain of his split knuckles.

* * *

It's nearing five in the evening when Aomine manages to bring himself to the Kise residence. When he knocks on the door, no one answers, but Aomine knows that Kise is in there. He tries calling out to the other, but stops after a few minutes, lest the neighbors call the cops and he's taken to the station for a second time in less than twenty-four hours. With a heavy sigh, he glances around the Kise's yard before looking up towards Kise's window. The light is on, unlike the other rooms in the house—had there been something to scale, Aomine would have chanced climbing up, but all that's there is a flat wall.

"Damn." He mutters to himself, walking around the yard a bit as he thinks. It's as he's kicking around a pebble that an idea comes to him; it's probably not a smart idea, but it's better than nothing.

_Tick_.

_Tick_.

Each small stone he throws at Kise's window ricochets back at him after hitting the clear glass. The idiot should be able to hear them, but no one shows up in the glass panes. Aomine contemplates throwing the rocks a bit harder, but knows his parents wouldn't be as forgiving as they were last night if he were to break a window. Not knowing what to do, he continues with throwing the small pebbles.

_Tick_.

_Tick_.

Whatever emotions that had taken over him the previous day seems to have faded; Aomine no longer feels like he's going to snap, but he still feels exhausted—he's slept the day away already though; right now he just needs to see Kise, needs to make sure the other boy is fine.

"Go to the fucking window already," Aomine growls to himself, accidently flinging a small stone with more force than he intended. The window doesn't break, but the resounding 'clack' is much louder than the ones before it.

As if answering his demand, Aomine sees a shadow shuffling about the room before sheer blinds are being pulled aside. The power forward watches as Kise glances around in nervous confusion before amber eyes settle on him and widen considerably. It takes longer than it probably should for Kise to regroup, but Aomine knows he's a sight to see with the bandages and bruises littering the exposed parts of his body.

"A-Aominecchi?" Kise calls after sliding the window open; the model's eyes waver as they take in his various injuries; Aomine takes advantage of the moment to look at Kise as well—the boy looks better rested, although a bit haunted.

"What are you doing here?" Kise asks, eyes squinting a bit and Aomine _swears_ he'll shove a worm down that idiot's shirt if he cries again! Aomine can't handle any more tears for at least another few days. He sees Kise shake his head a bit, causing his mussed hair to shift to and fro as he amends, "Why are you hurt?"

"I'm here for you—to make sure you're okay, or until you're okay. I don't know." Aomine says, looking up at his friend who bites his lip in response to Aomine's words. The power forward sighs and looks to the left, "And I'm not hurt. This is nothing."

Because really, it is nothing, because the wounds will heal in a week or so. Kise though—

When Aomine looks back up at the window, the small forward is gone. A scowl makes its way across Aomine's face as he picks up another stone; before he's able to toss it in to the open window, he hears the front door opening and looks over to see Kise peeking around from behind it. Dropping the stone, he slowly makes his way over with a limp he tries and fails to hide.

"It's good to have you come to me again, for a change." Aomine starts lightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. He stops in the open area of the porch and waits for Kise to continue towards him.

"You weren't there when I woke up," Kise murmurs instead. The comment causes Aomine to raise his brows.

"Uh, that's because…" Aomine starts; how is he supposed to tell the other that he went to bash a douche's face in because he had been so _fucking pissed_ without sounding like a complete sap? "It doesn't matter; I'm here now, aren't I?"

Kise nods and Aomine sighs, awkwardly holding his arms open for Kise to shuffle forward and in to.

"Aominecchi doesn't know how relieved I feel knowing that you didn't just leave." Kise murmurs in to Aomine's shoulder. The blonde doesn't wrap his arms around him, just stands in front of Aomine while slumping against him.

"Until I know you're chasing me again, I'll be around." Aomine says, arms wrapped securely around Kise's waist and head leant against the other's.

They have a lot they need to talk about, a lot that needs to be done and taken care of to make things better and more tolerable, but for now everything is fine. They're going to do things at Kise's speed, and if Kise wants to stay being held for longer than what Aomine is essentially comfortable with when it comes to other guys, that's fine. Learning to be patient won't kill him.

* * *

A/N: And there we have it. 8000 words of pure... something or another. This was definitely enjoyable to write; hopefully it was as enjoyable to read too? Maybe? A; I'm so nervous guys, hahaha. Let me know what you thought, yes? Reviews are great, although just reading is great support too. /


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